Chapter 2

The two of them returned to what was once their home, walking in silence.

Without a word, Chris pulled his battered old suitcase from under the bed and quietly began packing his belongings. He didn't own much—just a few changes of clothes and some daily necessities. Before long, the suitcase was filled.

Dragging it to the door, he bent to change his shoes, ready to leave. But then he stopped. Slowly, he turned back to look at his ex-wife on the sofa. Her makeup was flawless, her expression cold as ice.

"Katie, you'd better not regret this."

Katie let out a sharp laugh, as though she had just heard the most ridiculous joke in the world.

"Regret? The best decision I ever made was divorcing a deadweight like you! I want to see how you survive without me. What will you do? Crawl back to that dilapidated family hovel of yours? You've got no job, no savings. How will you even eat?"

Chris was silent for a moment. Then, the corners of his lips curved into a smile, subtle yet cutting.

"That wealthy heir from your company… He's been treating you well, hasn't he?"

Her face changed instantly, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. She shot upright, bristling.

"What nonsense are you spouting? What does it matter to you? We're divorced!"

Chris nodded knowingly. "Oh, so you already lined up a replacement. No wonder you were so decisive."

"Shut up!" she snapped, her voice shrill. "Don't you dare slander me! He's a hundred times the man you'll ever be—a thousand! You're not even fit to lick his boots! God, I must have been out of my mind to ever end up with a pathetic loser like you!"

Chris couldn't be bothered to argue. He opened the door and walked out without looking back.

The door slammed shut behind him. Cold air rushed in from outside, chilling his skin and clearing his thoughts.

That wealthy heir Katie had hooked... it wasn't exactly a secret. Her late nights at the office, the endless social dinners, the switch to a far more expensive perfume—he had noticed, but chosen not to dwell on it.

The system's first piece of intel had simply confirmed what he already suspected. But the other two—the subway shutdown and the demolition of the Westridge Terrace old apartment complex—those hadn't happened yet.

Could this thing really predict the future?

Chris shook his head. Now wasn't the time to get lost in speculation.

Leaving the suffocating luxury complex behind, he exhaled deeply. The air suddenly felt fresher, lighter, freer. By habit, his steps carried him toward the subway station.

Then he stopped.

What if... what if the system was telling the truth?

He turned instead toward the bus stop. A quick check confirmed that Bus 107 ran past the rundown neighborhood where his family's old apartment was.

The bus wasn't too crowded. Chris found a seat by the window and idly scrolled through local news on his phone.

Suddenly, a breaking alert flashed across the screen in bold red.

[Breaking News] Kenton City's Subway Line 3 has been fully suspended due to equipment failure as of five minutes ago. Resumption time is currently unknown. Citizens are advised to adjust travel plans.

Chris stared at the news in shock. He sat bolt upright, his heartbeat pounding against his ribs.

Damn! It really happened!

The subway had shut down—exactly as the system predicted.

He tapped the article open. The details lined up perfectly: cause of failure, timing, everything word for word with the system's intel.

A searing rush of excitement shot through him, igniting every nerve.

This wasn't some worthless gimmick. For some reason, he had been given a gold mine. A divine gift.

If the subway shutdown was real, then the demolition of the Westridge Terrace old apartment complex...

That meant it was guaranteed to be true.

Which meant—

Chris's breath came faster, fire blazing in his chest.

This time, he was going to be rich. Filthy rich.

The bus pulled up to his stop. Chris practically leapt off, covering the short distance to his sixty-square-meter apartment in a few long strides.

His parents weren't home—no doubt they were at the market selling vegetables.

The moment the door shut behind him, he could no longer contain the surge of excitement in his chest. He clenched his fist and pumped it hard into the air.

'Katie! You looked down on me, called me useless, a parasite? Just wait. When I've made my fortune, we'll see who really can't live without whom!'

He would prove to her—and to the world—that even without Katie, he would not only survive; he would live a hundred, a thousand times better than before. No more groveling. No more humiliation. No more playing the part of a docile househusband.

'Calm down. Calm down...'

Forcing himself to breathe deeply, he steadied his racing thoughts. The first priority was simple—raise money.

He powered on his computer and searched for information on Westridge Terrace.

Just as the system had hinted, the old apartment complex was notorious across Kenton City. The buildings were decades old, the layouts bizarre, the facilities outdated. There wasn't even a functioning property management office.

The prices had hit rock bottom—barely over two hundred per square meter. It was practically a giveaway.

The time was now.

Grabbing his phone, Chris scrolled through his contacts and began dialing.

"Hello, Uncle Adrian? It's Chris... I'm a bit tight on cash right now. Could you help me out? Not much, just five thousand... What for? Oh, I found a project—guaranteed returns, no risk at all..."

"Aunt Evelyn, how's your health these days? Listen, I need a little help. Three thousand would do... Don't worry, I'll pay you back soon."

Call after call, one relative after another. By the end, he had scraped together over thirty thousand dollars. His relatives, though they had always seen him as weak, still considered him dependable and honest. That goodwill bought him their trust.

But it wasn't enough. Not nearly.

Next, he turned to his old university friends.

"Hey, Tim, remember me? Chris. Yeah, yeah, it's been a while. Listen, I'm in a bind. Could you lend me some cash? I'll pay you back next month—no, two months tops."

"Evan, it's me, Chris! Yeah, I need a loan. However much you can spare. Interest? Sure, whatever works for you."

Some remembered the old bond and helped. Piece by piece, he scraped together another ten thousand.

In total, he managed to borrow nearly fifty thousand dollars.

To those who lent him money, he casually dropped a hint.

"By the way, if you're looking for a good investment, you should check out Westridge Terrace. Yeah, the old apartment complex. Might be a surprise in store."

The reactions were predictable.

"Chris, what's gotten into you? That dump? Even stray dogs wouldn't stay there."

"You didn't go stupid after the divorce, did you? Buying there? Are you burning money for fun?"

"All right, all right. I'll lend you the money. Just don't get scammed."

No one took his words seriously. They brushed him off with a few polite phrases, convinced he was talking nonsense.

Chris didn't bother explaining. Once the redevelopment announcement came, they'd realize exactly what they had missed.

Fifty thousand was enough to buy two spacious hundred-square-meter apartments, or three to four smaller units at Westridge Terrace's dirt-cheap prices.

It was a good start, but still... It wasn't enough.

Opportunities like this—life-changing, once-in-a-lifetime windfalls—had to be maximized.

As he racked his brain for other ways to raise funds, his phone suddenly rang. The name flashing on the screen made him pause.

Emma Jennings.

What was she calling for now? Had she heard about the divorce and wanted to console him?

Within the Jennings family, she was the only one who had ever treated him kindly. His father- and mother-in-law had always considered him unworthy of Katie. If not for Katie's insistence back then, he wouldn't even have qualified to be their live-in son-in-law.

Even so, he had only seen Emma a handful of times—usually during New Year visits or family gatherings. In the early days of his marriage, she would drop by their home now and then. But in recent years, she'd stopped coming.

Still, he answered.

"Emma? What's the matter?"

Her voice came fast and urgent.

"Chris, I heard from a friend that you've been borrowing money everywhere. Are you in trouble? If you're short of cash, you can tell me. I... I still have some saved."

A warmth spread through Chris's chest. Emma hadn't changed—she was still as considerate as ever.

But his situation now... it was awkward, to say the least.

He gave a bitter laugh.

"Emma... about that. Your sister and I… we're divorced. So... I appreciate your kindness, but I really can't trouble you anymore."

There was a beat of silence on the other end. Then, her shocked voice burst out, sharp with disbelief.

"What?! You and Katie... divorced?!"